'So, what does all this mean, then?'
'You know I'm not gonna answer the question. Not really, anyways.'
Trevor sighed, a frustration that Jack shared but didn't voice. Should, would, and could voice, but didn't.
'I can't say everything for you,' Trevor said, before reminding Jack that he had troubles all his own needing attention. Home life wasn't at its peak, and Trevor was contemplating moving out, though moving on would force him to leave so much behind.
'There's my little brother,' he would say, almost painfully. 'And I can't leave him with my father, I can't trust that man to take care of him.'
Jack promised to be there for Trevor, to lend a strong shoulder to cry on when the world was too cruel to face. And Trevor eagerly took it, falling onto it with great frequency, but never crying. He never shed a tear in front of Jack, and I can honestly say he had no more to cry even if he had wanted to. He'd given them all up already, though none were wasted.
And unlike Jack, Trevor was blunt about his reasons, almost as if he'd never been affected by the pains of his past, as if the events were not only behind him, but beyond him.
Mum died. Car crash. Two weeks after my birthday. I hate February now.
Those words were Trevor's mask, recited perfectly whenever he had cause to illuminate his past.
But he elaborated while buried in Jack's shoulder, spoke mumbled words, muffled further they fell upon soft cotton. Memories were manifested, dreams dredged up, confessions and curses once caught in Trevor's throat found themselves naked in Jack's presence.
'So why can't you answer a simple question?'
Jack trembled, stumbled. He could hear his heart beating like a hammer.
'Help,' he uttered.
He looked deep into Trevor's sad eyes, finding his reflected once more. And he knew that, though Trevor saw himself in Jack's eyes, he was trying to see past that, to see what was beyond the window instead of his obstructive reflection.
Trevor breathed his confusion at the plea, always the one to cry out and never the one to aid.
Jack only repeated his utterance, eyes still locked with Trevor's.
And so the lights went out, the switch flipped by Trevor. Reflections are no longer cast in darkness, and there's no need for masks when one's audience is blind. Maybe that's why people fear the dark: because of what it can reveal. A strange paradox, to be sure.
'So how can I help?' Trevor's voice was quiet, close, comforting.
There was no answer. Jack hardly knew what he was asking, hardly knew what it was he wanted from Trevor. He knew that he wanted to let Trevor in, but that would necessitate letting himself out.
'I just need you, right now,' Jack whispered. That was all Trevor needed then, too.
Soon their sitting gave way to sleep, and they lay sprawled in the darkness, not knowing where one person started and the other ended: Trevor and Jack and I.